A Winter's Storm
by Merlin's baggy bottom
Summary: What if Jon had some more prominent signs of his parentage? What if he didn't want to join the nights watch? This is the AU story, that if few small things change, it can change the world. R L J
1. Prologue

Game of thrones AU

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A/N: this is my first fic and I can't believe the amount of research you have to do to Martins world. It would have been so much easier to do Harry Potter fanfic, but ah I guess it too late now.

A/N: edit, extended and improved 25/04/15

A/N: again edited and greatly improved with by new writing buddy : LightInTheDark245 (28/04/15)

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-Prologue-

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**GEROLD**

Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to Aerys II Targaryen, sat in a inn in a small village just outside of Pentos, reminiscing about all of his past mistakes and failures. How will the maesters remember me? Who will finish my chapter in the White Book? The disgraced Lord Commander and his Mad King.

The last of the Targaryen's had died while under his watch.

Flash Back

He stood close behind the young pair, as they walked through the crowded streets of Pentos, browsing for wine for the gathering to be held tonight: a celebration of another year hidden from the Usurper. Daenerys, unmistakable with her white hair and violet eyes, drew away from the group as she approached a bald, overweight merchant selling Arbour wine. Her brother, a tall, imposing figure, followed closely behind, and inspected the merchant with narrowed eyes. He had insisted that they must have 'proper' wine at the celebration, not the 'watered piss' that the people from Essos drink. He believed himself the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and so his word was law.

Gerold made sure to keep a good distance from them, and he quickly glanced around to make sure they weren't being followed through the city.

"I will have three barrels of your best wine for my gathering tonight." Viserys stated snidely, looking disdainfully at the merchant. The old knight had never liked the way the boy looked down on those he considered inferior to himself. No, he had always doted on Daenerys, who was kind and gentle and eager to learn from him the ways of the Westerosi courts, and the history of her family.

"Of course ser, but surely you would like to taste the wine first?" asked the merchant in an accent Gerold easily placed as Westerosi.

"Yes, I suppose I should try it first, seeing as I will be buying so much. It is the least you can do for me." He declared, snatching a goblet of the wine proffered by the merchant.

"And the princess? Would her Grace care to taste?"

"Yes, of course, she must learn about proper wine sooner rather than later." He commented dryly, gesturing to his sister, and taking a sip of his goblet.

It dawned on the Lord Commander too late. He lunged forwards and knocked the wine from his king's hands and then Daenery's, who had already began to turn purple. It was too late for him to save them, all he could do was hold the princess as she collapsed, her brother already passed on as he had drank much more before her.

Dany began to struggle for breath, her chest heaving and her hands clawing at her throat. Tears welled in the old man's eyes, and he closed them and pressed a kiss to her forehead in grief. She weakly lifted her hand to cup his cheek, and as her final breath passed her lips, her hand dropped to her side.

With dawning comprehension and increasing fury, he turned to look for the wine merchant. The fat man had vanished, but the same could not be said for his strong smelling perfume that still lingered in the air.

That same day, he found himself wandering through the town, and stumbled into a dirty inn on the side of the road, planning to drown his sorrows in the same thing that took his surrogate daughter from him.

I will tear down those Usurpers from their pretty little keeps if it is the last thing I do. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. For killing my Dany, yes, I will do this for her. I will bring justice to her family, and peace to her soul.

He had to focus on the present. The logical side of him knew this. There were too many of the Usurper's dogs sniffing around Pentos. Gerold knew that they would still be looking for him, as word of the Targaryen murder spread through Essos and Westeros. He would have to go into hiding until the heat had died down, and it was safe for him to approach Targaryen loyalists.

For now, his best option was to sign the paper in front of him.

"I am promised anonymity if I sign?" He asked the two men in front of him, both well-built and younger than he.

They looked at each other and nodded. "Sign here. Being a sellsword can do great things for men like you." One said, nodding at with his sword, clearly impressed.

Gerold bent down and signed his elaborate signature that had been beaten into him as a child for moments such as these.

"I look forward to working with you and your men. Where are we heading?"

"Yunkai."

* * *

**JON / EDDARD**

The babe enters the world with a howling cry, its body ripping away from his mother's womb leaving nothing but blood in its wake.

This is how Ned Stark finds her. This is what makes the northman cry.

"Promise me, Ned," she says with her dying breath, as her chest slows and the last of her breath leaves her.

Promise me, Ned.

Those are the words that haunt him, the look in her eyes as her life slips away, hers in place of the child whose father is not her betrothed. But the babe is hers and so Ned loves him. He vows to raise the child, protect him from his otherwise doomed fate.

And when the babe's eyes open and he knows that while the blue of infanthood will slowly give way to the purple of his ancestors.

He will not know his mother, but he shall know a father. He shall be given the name of a bastard child of the north, for there is winter in his blood and Stark in his look.

He shall be the child of Lord Eddard Stark; a bastard, but a child of Winterfell nonetheless.

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AN: first chapter of my first story's! Despite what this chapter might suggest this story will be Jon centric.

AN2: I also aim to have the actually chapter a lot longer that this one. But I couldn't think of much to write.

AN3: it might be a little longer that you might want before an update as I'm looking to complete th first 5-10 chapters before I start posting the rest of the story.

AN4: if anyone wants to edit and improve feel free to contact me **(have found someone)**

(AN5: I promise never to do this many authors notes ever again)


	2. Chapter 1

-Chapter 1-

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****A/N: As of the 28/04/15 the prologue and this chapter has been completely reworked. So if you've already read them i recommend that you go back and read them again.**  
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**A/N: 28/04/15: id like to thank my beta , basically Co-Author, for the help she provided in this chapter and many chapter to come: LightInTheDark245**

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**Winterfell **

**JON**

Jon sighed and tried to sit up straighter in his chair, as he dutifully listened to Maester Luwin drone on about the Seven. The maester, along with Ser Rodrik Cassel had been teaching him and his half-brother, Robb since they could talk, but today, Robb was out riding with their father, and so he was left alone with their tutors.

He found Luwin's lectures to be longer and more boring than Ser Rodrik's simply because he was bored of learning the history of families either dead or irrelevant to the politics of Westeros. The maps and books of Westerosi history were getting more boring with each passing day, but of course, he would never mention it to the Maester, for fear of disappointing his father. Eddard Stark was a kind and honourable man, and merely laughed when a much younger Jon had complained of the lessons.

It is the Stark way, the Northern way, my boy. In time, you will see this, but for now, try hard in your studies. Your brother Robb will need your knowledge when he takes my place as Warden of the North.

And so Jon threw himself into his studies, spending hours poring through dusty tomes in the Winterfell library, memorising genealogy and battles, and learning all he could about politics and the tactics of what his father called the Game of Thrones.

Yet, with all his studious ambitions, Ser Rodrik's lessons were the most enjoyable. He had learned early on that he had a natural talent in wielding the bastard sword, which was uncomfortably fitting. Ser Rodrik was delighted to see such talent at such a young age, and with hours of practice, he became comfortable with handling the weapon in all sorts of situations- from the ground, horseback- he was determined to be a good aid to his brother when Robb's time came.

When he turned ten and six, his father gifted him a well made bastard sword, promising him a duel in a few months time when he had trained more. This motivation sparked a desire to prove his worth to his father, and so he began to rise at dawn to train, and for those few months, his body becomes strong and muscled, he finds himself eating more and gaining a few more inches to his height. His shoulders become broader and his face more mature, and when he glances in the mirror he finds himself turning into a man.

As he watches himself grow up, he asks his father once again of his mother: what she looked like, how her voice sounded…whether she loved him. Eddard refuses for what seems to be the hundredth time, and swears to tell him when he believes it to be the right time. With those words, he begins to imagine his mother, watching him and shouting words of encouragement, her dark hair like his blowing in the Northern wind and her purple eyes like his shining with pride.

He imagines the words she might say and practices until his limbs ache.

* * *

Almost a full moons' cycle had passed when Lord Stark approached him again.

"There has been a raven," his father says gravely. "King Robert rides for Winterfell. He will arrive within a fortnight."

Jon stares at the man standing before him, and his brows clenched as he came to a sudden realisation.

"You wish for me to leave."

"The King will not want to see you. Southerners, especially those of the Crownlands are not as tolerant as we are in the North, Jon. You're not safe while the royal family are here. You must join the Night's Watch, and go to the Wall in the morning."

He steps forward hesitantly and Jon does not move from where he stands. As his father's arms wrap around him, he stiffens his body, unsure and confused by this affectionate gesture. This was more love shown to him now than he could ever remember in his life. Jon stayed stiff for a few moments before allowing himself to collapse against the man he calls father, and enjoy the brief moment of contact.

"You are a Stark, you are my son," Ned says quietly, his grip tightening around Jon. "Do not let anyone convince you otherwise."

"Can we have our duel now father? I don't have as much time to prepare I thought I would."

"Do you think you are ready now?"

"Yes, I think so. I shall have to leave soon, so it will have to be now." He said, stepping out of his father's embrace.

"Very well, we shall duel. Meet me in the training yard in half an hour. I must prepare myself." And with that, his father left him standing alone in the corridor of a keep he could no longer call home.

* * *

Jon was standing in the middle of the training yard dressed as if going to war, hoping that he didn't misinterpret what his father meant by a real fight. A crowd had started to gather, thanks to Robb and his sister, Arya, telling everyone of the impending duel.

Lord Eddard strode out confidently, cutting a striking figure in his armour. Jon thanked the Old Gods that he wasn't overdressed. His father clutched the Stark greatsword, Ice, in his right hand, and his shield bore the Stark dire wolf.

"Shall we begin Jon?"

"I'm ready, father."

* * *

Lord Eddard moved to strike first, bringing his shield up and swinging his sword at Jon's unprotected head, Jon raised his sword up and intercepted the swing and before his father could raise his shield had landed a hit with his clenched fist against Eddard's head. Eddard turned with the blow and swung out with his shield, Jon leaned back as the shield swung right in front of his chin. He stabbed towards Ned's chest piece only for the shield on Eddard's left arm to smack the blade down; Jon used the block to bring the pommel of his sword up and smash against the front of Eddard's helm, he then lifted the blade up to block the sword strike. Eddard shoved Jon back and stared him down.

"Come now Father, I heard you were good enough to be a knight!" Jon exclaimed much to the amusement of the crowd. Eddard smiled at him and charged with his sword raised high to cut Jon down. Jon intercepted the blade with his and kicked at Eddard only for his foot to meet the older man's shield.

Jon parried the blade and swung at Eddard's head only to meet the shield again. Eddard swung his sword at Jon's side, and Jon was shouted as the blade smashed against his armour putting a small gash on his side, Eddard look worriedly at Jon through his visor to see if Jon was ok to continue. With a small nod from Jon they continued.

Jon swung his sword and slashed at Eddard's elbow drawing blood, Jon dropped his shield to grab at Eddard's right hand to hold his sword at bay and punch into Eddard's stomach. Eddard gasped in pain from the jab.

Eddard stood up as Jon retrieved his sword; the older man threw his shield away as the two charged, swords clashing with an audible clang reverberating through the silence of the crowd. The two of them pulled back, and Eddard swung at Jon who ducked under the sword only for Eddard to knock Jon's legs out from under him and kick the sword from his hand.

Eddard said nothing as he moved to stab through Jon's chest only for Jon to turn the sword away with the armour covering his arms and rolled over grabbing Eddard by the legs and knocked the old man to the ground reaching up with his hands to hold Eddard's arms down and smash his sword hand against the ground repeatedly until he let the sword go when Jon painfully twisted his wrist.

He knocked Eddard's helmet off and reached for the knife he had on his belt . Eddard punched Jon in the side where his sword had cut into his skin and smashed against the still bleeding wound. Jon groaned and gave up on the knife before Eddard punched him in the jaw and knocked him off. Jon spit blood from his broken lip and got up to glare at Eddard who slowly rose from the ground, both men picked up their blades and stared the other down. Eddard gave a small battle cry and ran at him, Jon mirroring his charge with grim silence as their blades clashed, the sound of steel clanging against steel reverberating in the air.

Jon turned the great sword's blade aside and was face to face with Ned now and saw the gauntlet encased fist heading straight for his face, Jon took the punch and rolled with it before having to dodge a sword swing that would have cut deep into his arm. Eddard swung again and closed in for the win only for Jon to parry the sword and once again grapple with his father, using his superior strength he pulled Eddard close and lifted him off the ground before slamming him on his back hard into the dirt. Eddard groaned on the ground but stayed on the dirt as Jon went to retrieve his blade, just as he was starting to stand up Jon put his foot down on his chest and placed the tip of his blade on Eddard's throat.

"I yield!" Eddard shouted humorously feeling the sharp steel on the unprotected flesh of his neck. His eyes widened as Jon kept the blade placed firmly against his throat; he looked up pleadingly into the purple gaze of the young man standing above him.

"I didn't overdo it, did I Father?" He asked worriedly, sheathing his blade and extending a hand to his father.

"Not at all Jon. This was what we planned: a real fight to see if you are ready to become a man. You are clearly a talented swordsman, Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, will be pleased to have you." His father complimented, as he accepted the proffered hand.

Jon nodded and stood by his father's side as the Lord of Winterfell announced his bastard's victory.

* * *

It was a cold morning, and Jon strode into the courtyard to find Robb shivering next to two saddled horses. He was leaving Winterfell, and not returning for a good many years to come, he was sure of it. He had said his goodbyes to the rest of his siblings, who had appeared very upset at his departure. Even Sansa, the prim and proper lady her mother had raised her to be shed a few tears and apologised for her distance over the past few years, and after hugging him with the surprisingly large strength in her body, she made him swear to write her regularly. Arya had also been rather distraught, and after he presented her with Needle, she too had hugged him without restraint.

His brothers had been a little more composed, that is to say that Rickon did not fully understand the situation, and refused to believe that it would be more than a few days before he saw Jon again. Bran however had remained calm, and promised to write him every fortnight at least.

His father walked out into the morning as Jon reached the horses, and the older man quickly reached out to pull him into an embrace before he could say anything or protest. "The Seven and the Old Gods be with you, son. I am so very proud of you, and I know your mother would be too." With that small bombshell dropped on his second son, the Warden of the North dropped a kiss on Jon's head and turned to renter the castle.

The two brothers mounted the horses without comment, and cantered out of the gates without a second glance.

"I can travel by myself, Robb, I am barely a few months younger than you. There is no need to accompany me, I promise." Jon said in frustration, when after an hour's ride Robb had shown no sign of turning back for the castle.

Robb's smile betrayed his amusement as he shook his head of Tully curls. "You have days of riding alone to mope and lick your wounds. You can spare a few moments for your brother, I'm sure."

Jon squeezed his legs around the sides of his horse, urging his horse into a steady canter, and when Robb did the same, the two horses began competing and the brothers urged them on, galloping through the Northern landscape at breakneck speed. Jon managed to put aside his anger at being sent away for life, and enjoy the moment with his older brother and best friend.

When the horses finally wore themselves out and slowed to a walk, the men threw back their heads and laughed together, their voices ringing out over the deserted moors.

"I will miss spending time with you Jon. You don't have to join the Night's Watch if you don't want to- I could buy you passage across the Narrow Sea and you could join a sellsword company, or even convince Father to let you live at Winterfell until you can join the Kingsguard or the Goldcloaks down in King's Landing? Or just become a famous knight travelling all over Westeros and winning tourneys, like the dragon knight you always pretended to be when we were younger!" Robb teased, with a wistful smile.

"You know very well I can't do any of that: we all have a duty to our family, and this is mine." Jon replied, sounding irritated, but touched that his brother had thought up all those 'escape routes' for him "Besides, What better place is there for a Stark bastard? Don't worry about it Robb, there's not a lot you can do anyway. I appreciate it, though, and I will miss you as well, brother. "

"I'm sorry Jon, I really am. If you ever decide that you can't be a man of the Nights Watch anymore, you'll always be welcome wherever I am Jon. That I can swear to you." With grief plain in his eyes, he wheeled his horse around, and began the trek back to Winterfell.

Jon turned away from the fading image of his brother, and looked North, at the path ahead and his future.

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A/N: better length? I was trying to make it 1.5K I never realised how long a decent chapter was. When I read other authors story I think 3k is a good length. I never appreciated that that actually a lot of writing!

A/N2: anyway there you have it. If someone wants to beta for me it is much appreciated.

A/N3: 28/04/15: again updated with the help of my basically Co-Author: LightInTheDark245


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:**Again I'd like to thank my beta. Also this should be the normal posting day from now on. I've got the next couple of chapters sorted and got quite few more planned.

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**Chapter 2**

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The courtyard filled with the song of swords. Under black wool, boiled leather, and mail, beads of sweat trickled down Jon's chest as he pressed forward in his attack.

Grenn stumbled backward, defending himself clumsily. When he raised his sword, Jon cut underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of the other boy's leg and sent him staggering. Grenn's down cut was answered by an overhand that dented his helm. When he tried a side swing, Jon swept aside his blade and slammed a mailed forearm into his chest. Grenn lost his footing and sat down hard in the snow. Jon knocked his sword from his fingers with a slash to his wrist that brought a cry of pain.

"Enough!" Ser Alliser Thorne, the Master-at-Arms of Castle Black, had a voice with an edge like Valyrian steel, and his voice alone was enough to make Jon grimace. The two men had already gotten off to a bad foot, as Thorne continued to mock him for his privileged upbringing, and of course resented him for his father's part in Robert's Rebellion.

Grenn cradled his hand. "The bastard broke my wrist." He spat, throwing a dirty look in Jon's direction. He attempted to smile back at the other recruit by way of apology, but was quickly cut off by Thorne.

"That bastard hamstrung you, opened your empty skull, and cut off your hand. Or would have, if these blades had an edge. It's fortunate for you that the Watch needs stable boys as well as rangers." Ser Alliser gestured at Jeren and Toad. "Get the boy on his feet; he has funeral arrangements to make."

Jon took off his helm as the other boys were pulling Grenn to his feet. The frosty morning air felt good on his face. He leaned on his sword, drew a deep breath, and allowed himself a moment to savour the victory.

"That is a longsword, not an old man's cane," Ser Alliser said sharply, narrowing his eyes at the young recruit. "Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?"

Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice. The other boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the longsword back into its scabbard. "No, ser." he replied, bowing his head slightly to show respect.

Thorne strode toward him, the dark cloak of the Watch flapping around his ankles as he moved. He was a compact man of fifty years, spare and hard, with grey in his black hair and eyes like chips of onyx. "The truth now," he commanded.

"I'm tired," Jon admitted. His arm burned from the weight of the longsword, and he was starting to feel his bruises now that the fight was done and his adrenaline had vanished.

"What you are is weak."

"I won."

"No. The others lost."

One of the other boys sniggered. Jon knew better than to reply. He had beaten everyone that Ser Alliser had sent against him, yet it gained him nothing. The master-at-arms served up only derision. Thorne hated him, Jon had decided; but of course, he hated the other boys even worse.

"That will be all," Thorne told them. "I can only stomach so much ineptitude in any one day. If the Others ever come for us, I pray they have archers, because you lot are fit for nothing more than arrow fodder."

Jon followed the rest back to the armoury, walking alone. He often walked alone here. There were almost twenty in the group he trained with, yet not one he could call a friend. Most were two or three years his senior, yet not one was half the fighter he was at twelve. Dareon was quick but afraid of being hit. Pyp used his sword like a dagger; Jeren was weak as a girl, Grenn slow and clumsy. Halder's blows were brutally hard but he ran right into your attacks. The more time he spent with them, the more Jon despised them.

Inside, Jon hung his sword and scabbard from a hook in the stone wall, ignoring the others around him. Methodically, he began to strip off his mail, leather, and sweat-soaked woollens. Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room. Fatigue suddenly overcame him, as he donned the roughspun blacks that were their everyday wear. He sat on a bench, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings on his cloak. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black; the walls were cold here and the people colder.

No one had told him the Night's Watch would be like this. He wondered if his father had known what the Wall would be like. He must have, he thought; that only made it hurt worse.

Even his uncle had abandoned him in this cold place at the end of the world. Up here, the genial Benjen Stark he had known became a different person. He was First Ranger, and he spent his days and nights with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon and the other high officers, while Jon was given over to the less than tender charge of Ser Alliser Thorne.

* * *

Three days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen men on a ranging beyond the Wall, and that night he sought out his uncle in the great timbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. "This is not Winterfell," he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. "On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You're no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you."

Stupidly, Jon argued. "I'll be seventeen on my name day," he said. "Almost a man grown."

Benjen Stark frowned at him, the Stark blood in him causing a pang of homesickness to flare up in his chest. "A boy you are, and a boy you'll remain until Ser Alliser says you are fit to be a man of the Night's Watch. If you thought your Stark blood would win you easy favours, you were wrong. We put aside our old families when we swear our vows. Your father will always have a place in my heart, but these are my brothers now." He gestured with his dagger at the men around them, all the hard cold men in black.

Jon rose at dawn the next day to watch his uncle leave. One of his rangers, a big ugly man, sang a bawdy song as he saddled his garron, his breath steaming in the cold morning air. Ben Stark smiled at that, but he had no smile for his nephew. "How often must I tell you no, Jon? We'll speak when I return."

* * *

That evening Jon was called to the Old Bears' chambers, and entered the room with trepidation. He found the Lord Commander sitting behind an oaken desk littered with scrolls and heavy tomes. Behind him, a huge fire was roaring, bringing heat to the small room.

"I've heard from your uncle that you want to be a Ranger, boy. This is true?" he spoke gruffly, straight to the point: something that he was infamous within the Watch for.

"Yes, my lord." He replied hesitantly, meeting the eyes of the man in front of him. This was the sort of man he knew he could become. A strong leader, a wise adviser, and a perceptive man.

"Well, you're obviously too young for that and you lack certain skills to be able to cope beyond the Wall. That land is life nothing you have ever seen boy, and it is possible that you could die out there. You need more training, you need experience before I will ever let you pass through those gates."

"Excuse me sir, but I do not think so." He protested, taking a half step forward, but the old man stopped him with a raised hand.

"Of course you don't, that's your problem. You're too confident in yourself. Too certain of your own greatness. Anyway, that has been enough talk of this, you haven't taken your oaths yet. You can't be a ranger now, but you will be my steward. You start tomorrow. I will want breakfast at first light tomorrow morning. Off you go now, boy."

* * *

**Time skip (3 months)**

He walked through the empty courtyard to the Lord Commander's Tower alone, the wind blowing his hair into his face, with a curious sense of apprehension. The brothers on guard eyed him solemnly as he approached. "The Old Bear's in his solar," one of them announced. "He was asking for you."

Jon nodded. He should have come straight from the stable he reprimanded himself, and climbed the tower steps briskly. He wants wine or a fire in his hearth, that'll be all, he told himself.

When he entered the solar, Mormont's raven screamed at him. "Corn!" the bird shrieked. "Corn! Corn! Corn!"

"Don't you believe it, I just fed him," the Old Bear growled. He was seated by the window, reading a letter. "Bring me a cup of wine, boy, and pour one for yourself."

"For myself, my lord?"

Mormont lifted his eyes from the letter to stare at Jon. There was pity in that look; he could taste it. "You heard me."

Jon poured with exaggerated care, vaguely aware that he was drawing out the act. When the cups were filled, he would have no choice but to face whatever was in that letter. Yet all too soon, they were filled. "Sit, boy," Mormont commanded him. "Drink."

Jon remained standing. "It's my father, isn't it?"

The Old Bear tapped the letter with a finger. "Your father and the King," he rumbled. "I won't lie to you, its dark news. I never thought to see another King, not at my age, with Robert Baratheon half my years and strong as a bull." He took a gulp of wine. "They say the king loved to hunt. The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that. My son loved that young wife of his. Vain woman. If not for her, he would never have thought to sell those poachers. No, that woman led my son astray…" he drifted into thought, leaving a tense silence between them.

Jon could scarcely follow what the Old Bear was saying. "My lord, I don't understand. What's happened to my father?"

"I told you to sit," Mormont grumbled.

"Sit," the raven screamed.

"And have a drink, damn you. That's a command, Snow."

Jon sat, and took a sip of the wine. Nothing like the wine they had at home, but it was strong and warm.

"King Robert died of his injuries gained on a boar hunt a few days ago. Your father has been imprisoned, charged with treason. It is said he plotted with Robert's brothers to deny Joffrey the throne after Robert died." Jeor Mormont looked down as he said the last few words. "I'm sorry, lad."

"No," Jon said at once. "That couldn't be. My father would never betray the king! They grew up together in the Vale!"

"Be that as it may," said Mormont. "It is not for me to say. Nor for you."

"But it's a lie," Jon insisted. How could they think his father was a traitor, had they all gone mad? Lord Stark would never betray his friend, his king. He had too much honour…

He fathered a bastard, a small voice whispered inside him. Where was the honour in that? And your mother, what of her? He will not even speak her name to you, her son.

"My lord, what will happen to him? Will they kill him?" He asked fearfully, gripping the edge of his seat so tight that his knuckles turned white.

"As to that, I cannot say, lad. I mean to send a letter to King's Landing. I knew some of the king's councillors in my youth. Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Stannis, Ser Barristan . . . Whatever your father has or hasn't done, he is a great lord, and a beloved leader. He must be allowed to take the black and join us here. The gods know we need men of Lord Eddard's ability."

Jon knew that other men accused of treason had been allowed to redeem their honour on the Wall in days gone past. Why not Lord Eddard? His father, living at Castle Black with him. That was an awful thought, and felt strangely uncomfortable. It would be a monstrous injustice to strip him of Winterfell and force him to take the black, and yet if the forfeit was his life . . .

Would Joffrey allow it? He remembered the description of the stuck up prince when he visited Winterfell from his siblings' letters, the way he'd mocked Robb and Ser Rodrik in the courtyard: two men who could easily best him in a fight.

"My lord, will the king listen to you?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair. He cursed his position in the Watch and his impending oaths. If he were not here, he could be at Winterfell, with his brother and Lady Stark, planning a way to help his father.

The Old Bear shrugged. "That boy, king . . . I imagine he'll listen to Cersei. I'm afraid to say that it was a bad decision on your lady mother's part, taking Tyrion Lannister captive—"

"Lady Stark is not my mother," Jon reminded him sharply. If Lord Eddard was killed, she would be as much to blame as the queen.

"My lord, what of my sisters? Arya and Sansa, they were with my father, do you know—"

"Pycelle makes no mention of them, but doubtless they'll be treated gently and with. I will enquire of them when I write." Mormont shook his head. "This could not have happened at a worse time. If ever the realm needed a strong king . . . there are dark days and cold nights ahead, I feel it in my bones." He gave Jon a long shrewd look.

"I hope you are not thinking of doing anything stupid, boy."

He's my father, Jon wanted to say, I have to help him, but he knew that Mormont would not want to hear it. The realisation of the possibility of his father's execution hit him again, and he made himself take another sip of wine.

"Your life is here now, you volunteered," the Lord Commander reminded him. "Your old life ended when you said you would take the black, and we are your family now."

"I still haven't taken my vows yet, my Lord." He protested, trying desperately to think of an excuse that could help him.

"Yes, well we wouldn't send you beyond the Wall to take them until your uncle returned with a report. There has been an increasing number of wildlings about, and we can't spare the men to accompany you until your uncle's party return. The rest have already taken their vows in the sept."

His bird made a raucous echo. "Beyond the wall."

Mormont took no notice. "Whatever they do in King's Landing is none of our concern, we have sworn to refrain from interfering with the affairs of the realm."

When Jon did not answer, the old man finished his wine and said, "You're free to go. I'll have no further need of you today. On the morrow you can help me write that letter."

Jon did not remember standing or leaving the solar. The next he knew, he was descending the tower steps. This is my father, my own sisters, how can it be none of my concern?

Outside, one of the guards looked at him and said, "Be strong, boy. The gods are cruel."

They know, Jon realized. They believed the lies the king was telling them "My father is no traitor," he said hoarsely. Even the words stuck in his throat, as if to choke him, and correct him. The wind was rising, and it seemed colder in the yard than it had when he'd gone in. Summer was drawing to an end. And winter was coming.

* * *

**Time skip (that night)**

"My father is no traitor," he told himself, slumping against the cold stone wall in his sleeping chambers, hands wrapped firmly around his knees, and he stared at the flickering flame of the candle on the table beside his narrow bed. It flickered and swayed, the shadows moved around him, the room seemed to grow darker and colder. I will not sleep tonight, Jon thought, who knows what will happen to Father in the morning?

Yet he found his eyelids growing heavy and his head dropping, and when he woke, his legs were stiff and cramped and the candle had long since burned out. When had it gotten so cold? He asked himself. He was shivering violently. Something was unnatural about this cold. He had never been this cold, not even when Robb had pushed him into an ice river when he was seven, he always had a strange warmth within himself. But know it was as if the flame inside was burning out like the candle in his room.

"There's someone out there, isn't there?" he whispered to himself.

Slowly, Jon pushed himself to his feet. He was shivering uncontrollably, wishing he still had a sword, though he had left it at the armoury after practice. Three quick steps brought him to the door. He grabbed the handle and pulled it inward. The creak of the hinges almost made him jump.

A guard was sprawled, motionless across the narrow steps going past his small room, looking up at him, even though he was lying on his stomach. His head had been twisted completely around.

It can't be, Jon told himself. This is the Lord Commander's Tower, its guarded day and night, and this couldn't happen, it's a dream, I'm having a nightmare.

That was when he heard it; the soft scrape of a boot on stone, the sound of a latch turning. The sounds came from above. From the Lord Commander's chambers.

A nightmare this might be, yet it was no dream.

The guard's sword was in still in its sheath and Jon knelt and worked it free. Whoever, or whatever was up there, he would much prefer to be armed when he faced it. The feel of the heavy hilt in his fist made him bolder, and he began to move up the stairs. Shadows lurked in every turn of the stair, Jon crept up warily, probing any suspicious darkness with the point of his sword.

Suddenly he heard the shriek of Mormont's raven. "Corn," the bird was screaming. "Corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn." Jon bounded ahead. The door to Mormont's solar was wide open. He stopped in the doorway, blade in hand, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Heavy drapes had been pulled across the windows, and the darkness was black as ink. "Who's there?" he called out.

Then he saw it, a shadow in the shadows, sliding toward the inner door that led to Mormont's sleeping cell, a man-shape all in black, cloaked and hooded, but beneath the hood, its eyes shone with an icy blue radiance . . .

He ran and leapt. Man and wight went down together with neither scream nor yell, rolling, smashing into a chair, knocking over a table laden with papers. Mormont's raven was flapping overhead, screaming, "Corn, corn, corn, corn." Jon felt as blind as Maester Aemon was said to be. Moonlight flooded the solar. He glimpsed black hands buried in the moonlight, swollen dark fingers tightening around his throat. Jon was twisting and writhing, legs flailing in the air. He managed to get his legs under the beast and with a great heave, he pushed the monster up and over himself towards the door and away from the Lord Commander sleeping form.

Jon had no time to be afraid. He threw himself forward, shouting, bringing down the longsword with all his weight behind it. Steel sheared through sleeve and skin and bone, yet the sound was wrong somehow. The smell that engulfed him was so queer and cold he almost gagged. He saw arm and hand on the floor, black fingers wriggling in a pool of moonlight.

And yet the thing was still living. Jon tried to wrench his borrowed sword from the things chest were it had lodge itself. But it was stuck. He abandoned it, as a lost cause, and turned in desperation for something, anything to arm himself with, and then he saw it.

The fire.

If this was what he thought it was then it was one of the only weapons against such an abomination. Jon lunged and grab the torch, the flames dancing and brightening with new purpose.

Again Jon turned and again he saw the monster. But this time there fear in it eyes, if such a thing can feel fear he thought. With new determination at his small victory Jon dived toward the blue eyed creature. The flames leapt from the touch to the black clothes of the weight. The flames roared to an even greater height, licking the entire monster up and down.

The wight then did the last thing Jon expected it to: It ran at him enveloping him in flame and flesh. When Jon expected pain, he felt none, only a warm feeling instead of the pain of the fire, but he had no time to think as the wight continued to claw at his back with rotting fingers. With a final surge of adrenaline, he managed to push the monster backwards and towards the window. It stumbled backwards, arms flailing and emitting an inhumane shriek. Advancing once more, Jon turned and brought his right leg up in a roundhouse kick that sent the wight flying through the window and landing on the courtyard below, where the men awoken by the clamour quickly incapacitated it.

Jon collapsed onto the floor, the lack of adrenaline leaving him exhausted and breathing heavily. He watched through blurry vision as two more brothers burst into the room, one running for the Lord Commander's chamber and the other rushing towards him. He saw the man's eyes on himas his vision began to dim.

"You've done so, so well Jon. Hold on, Maester Aemon is on his way, just stay with us. you'll make it. Or the Gods truly are cruel."

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	4. Chapter 3

-Chapter 3-

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**Maesters Tower**

"It is time to wake up, my boy, I will not be kept waiting."

The soft voice filtered through his mind, as Jon was pulled from the warm embrace of unconsciousness. He found himself on a cold hard wood table in the middle of a cramped and drafted library. There was an old man sitting next to him. He didn't seem to mind the cold; in fact it was as if he didn't even notice that it was cold at all.

"You've taken your time waking up. I would have expected someone of your age and heritage to recover much faster than this. You've been asleep for two days, lad."

Jon blinked groggily and lifted a hand stiffly to run his fingers through his curls, and groaned as he felt the beginnings of a pounding headache arrive.

"Still a bit out of it I see. Well, not to worry lad, you're in the Maesters Tower. I am Maester Aemon, you were brought to me two nights ago unconscious and with an injured right hand."

"Do you know what happened to the Wight I fought?" He asked, still trying to push away the ache in his skull and the growing pain in his hand.

"Yes, it landed in the main yard and the brothers have made sure that the body was turned to ashes before they threw it over the other side of the Wall." At this, Maester Aemon smirked. "They were certainly thorough. They're all very impressed at your defeat of the Wight when you've only been with us for **_.**

"But of your injuries, or lack thereof. I have never seen anything like it. When you arrived here your clothes were burnt so badly that there was barely any material left. Rightly your body should be nothing but scar tissue at best and you'd be dead at worst. Do you know what family your mother is from, lad?" He leaned forward in his seat and fixed Jon with a steely gaze.

"My mother? I'm afraid I don't know, my father refused to speak of her when I asked him." Jon shrugged, looking aside. His mother had always been a mystery to him, and often when he was younger he would see the way Lady Catelyn looked at her children, and embraced them when they were hurt, and he had wondered if his mother would have looked at him like that, hugged him like that.

"You have purple eyes, lad. Did your maester teach you nothing? Aemon sighed and leaned back, clearly settling down for a lengthy discussion.

What do you mean by that sir?" Jon was getting more and more confused as the old man continued speaking. What did this have anything to do with his injury?

"Have you heard of how Roberts' Rebellion started?"

"Yes, of course, my father fought alongside King Robert. But what does that have to do with anything?" Jon's brow furrowed and he shifted restlessly.

"Ah, the impatience of youth. Just hold on lad. It is said that Rhaegar Targaryen stole Lyanna Stark from the Riverlands and smuggled her to Dorne. Your father is said to have found her lying in a bed of blood and winter roses. Does giving roses sound like something that a kidnapper would do? Not everything is what it seems. Do you know what I think? I think the bed of blood was caused by a tricky birthing. A child born of ice and fire. With traits of both Stark and Targaryen." he explained slowly, giving Jon a pointed look.

"What? That's impossible sir. If another Targaryen heir had been born, Robert would have known, and my father as well." He protested.

"When where you born? At the very end of the rebellion? Lord Eddard brought you back after visiting Dorne and finding his sister. He returned to Winterfell and his wife after finding his sister in a bloodied bed, bringing with him a child with Northern colouring but with the lilac eyes of a Targaryen. Jon, you are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Your lack of injury only proves my point. Only a true dragon can withstand the bite of flames."

"How do you know all this?" Jon asked, now sitting straight up on the table and facing the Maester. Could it be true? Him, the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna? The last Targaryen in Westeros?

"Because, my nephew, I too am a Targaryen."

* * *

**Same day – that evening**

Are you well, Snow?" Lord Mormont asked, reaching for a goblet of Dornish wine.

"Well," his raven squawked. "Well."

"I am, my lord," Jon lied through his teeth. In truth, his head was spinning with both the shock of what the maester had told him and the effort of climbing the stairs. While his body remained unscathed, his head had hit the floor quite hard when he fell. "And you?"

Mormont frowned. "A dead man tried to kill me. How well could I be?" He scratched under his chin. His shaggy grey beard had been singed in the fire, and he'd hacked it off. The pale stubble of his new whiskers made him look old, and disgruntled. "Were you injured at all?"

"Surprisingly not my lord, apart from a cut I got at some point during the fight apparently" Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to show him. At the time he'd felt nothing; the agony had come after. "The maester says I'll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it was before."

"A scarred hand is nothing. On the Wall, you'll be wearing gloves often as not."

"As you say, my lord." It was not the thought of scars that troubled Jon, it was the rest of it. Maester Aemon had given him milk of the poppy, to help him sleep last night and in his dream, the corpse he fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father's face, but he dared not tell Mormont that.

"My lord," he asked hesitantly, "it's said there was a raven last night"

"There was. What of it?"

"I had hoped for some word of my father."

"Father," taunted the old raven, bobbing its head as it walked across Mormont's shoulders. "Father."

The Lord Commander reached up to pinch its beak shut, but the raven hopped up on his head, fluttered its wings, and flew across the chamber to light above a window. "Grief and noise," Mormont grumbled. "That's all they're good for, ravens. Why I put up with that pest of a bird..." He trailed off, and looked into the fire, losing himself in the dance of the flames.

"I'm sorry, lad, I had wanted to save you the grief after you injury. I assume you remember the letter we received telling us that your father had been arrested? Two days later he was executed by the boy king. "Mormont snorted bitterly.

"We have white shadows in the woods and the dead stalking our halls, and a boy sits the Iron Throne," he said in disgust.

The raven laughed shrilly. "Boy, boy, boy."

"What of my sisters?" he said quietly, inwardly screaming for the loss of the man who had taken him in and called him son.

"The letter said none of them but we can assume they are being treated gently by the Queen Regent." Mormont sighed, and dragged an aged hand over his features. "I'm sure they will be returned to Winterfell in the coming weeks."

"I'm leaving." He blurted out, before his eyes widened in shock. Did he really just say that to the Lord Commander?

"What?"

"I haven't taken my vows and I volunteered to join, so I can leave. My bro- … cousin will need my help – he has raised a host against the Lannisters and has arrived at Riverrun waiting for the rest of his men to gather. He'll need me if he wants to win this war - I was always better at the strategy lessons we were given by his lord father."

"There is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise? The Watch needs good men like you, now more than ever, Jon."

"I'm sorry, sir, but my duty to my family will always surpass any other. It was an honour to serve Lord Commander, and I swear that I will do my best to see that the Watch receives all the men it needs after we have won the war."

"Thank you, Jon, you are most kind to our cause. I'm afraid that I must inform you that Dywen and Hake returned last night." the Old Bear said. "They found no sign of your uncle. We can assume that he is lost to us now."

"Yes Lord Commander. I must go. I want to reach Robb before he begins to move his host."

* * *

**Time skip – (4 days)**

Jon rode day and night and made record time down the Kingsroad. His mount certainly did not appreciate the hard pace they kept up but Jon was determined to make it to Riverrun time to join the Northern forces.

Winterfell was but a few more hours ride and soon he would see Bran and Rickon, his little cousins again. He had missed their boisterous behaviour and their cheeky grins more than he ever imagined that he would. It was a shame he could only stay for a few hours before he had to leave, but he swore to himself that when the war was over he would return and spend more time with them.

* * *

**Time skip – a few hours**

Jon's horse clattered into the training yard, sending some feeding crows flying away in terror. He jumped off his horse and handed its reins to Mikon as he appeared from out of the forge.

"Take care of him for me Mikon, the poor beast is practically dead on its feet!"

Not waiting for a response, Jon marched purposely towards the library tower assuming that would be Bran and the Maester would be. Striding past startled maids and guards surprised to see him since he had left for the Wall, Jon payed them no mind, and continued on his ascent.

Walking up to the door, he stopped to catch his breath and to mentally prepare himself for what he is about to do.

He carefully prised open the door and peaked inside, subconsciously holding his breath in anticipation. Sure enough there they were- Bran, his little bro-no, cousin and Maester Luwin, seated by the fire, both reading books. Coughing in a not so subtle way to get their attention, Jon couldn't hide the wide smile that broke out when they both turned from where they were sitting.

"JON!" Bran exclaimed, attempting raise himself from his seated position before stopping and looking down, embarrassed at forgetting his disability and Jon winced inwardly, fighting to keep a smile on his face. He knew Bran well enough to know that he hated pity, and in this situation he would hate having to be lifted and carried everywhere for the rest of his life.

"Hello Jon" the maester said, closing the book in order to begin a conversation "What has brought you so far south of the Wall?"

"Well the reason is two-fold. Firstly, I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but you must know. Uncle Benjen has been lost beyond the Wall and the Watch have assumed that he is dead."

Bran swallowed but nodded, hiding his emotions and putting them to one side to deal with later, as he had seen both his parents and Robb do on occasion. He had to be brave like them now, he was the Heir Apparent of Winterfell and he was in command.

"That's awful news, Jon. This is not a good time for the Starks it would seem. What was the second reason?"

"I've left the Night's Watch. I had yet to take my vows and was free to do so. Robb will need my help if he is to rebel against the Lannisters and I intend to join him as soon as I can. And of course I wanted to see my favourite little Starks." He teased, ruffling Bran's long hair playfully.

"I'm not little anymore, I'm almost a man grown!" The boy replied, puffing out his chest.

"Yes, of course, my Lord Stark. It was bad form to insult the ruler of Winterfell" Jon said, sweeping a mocking bow and grinning.

Bran inclined his head regally and sat up straighter. "That is correct, brother."

Jon chuckled at his cousin before growing serious. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the sun beginning to set- he would need to leave soon if he wanted to reach Moat Cailin by nightfall. "I will need a new horse and supplies if I am to make it to Riverrun before Robb moves his host. Will Lord Stark be able to help me?"

"Yes, of course Jon, I will have them prepared immediately." said Luwin, setting the book down and rising from his chair. "I will leave you and Bran to catch up for a few moments more while I get everything ready." With that, the maester left and Jon and Bran were left sitting in an awkward silence, neither wanting to mention the elephant in the room- Bran's disability.

"How have you been since the fall, Bran?" Jon asked awkwardly. He wanted to talk about it before he left but he didn't want Bran to get upset, so he was treading a fine line.

"Alright, I guess. It's been hard adjusting, but I think it's worse for Mother. She's worried about me and Rickon, scared for Sansa and Arya and she's with Robb trying to help him wage war on the King, all the while grieving for Father. My disability is fine in comparison."

"I see your point- you're very intuitive like that Bran. Has anything interesting happened while I was away?"

"Not a lot really. Sometime after you left there was a deserter from the wall and the whole family went to see Father execute him, and on the way back we found direwolf puppies, and their mother dead by the side of the road. Father let us keep them- there were five- one for each of us. Robb's, Sansa's and Arya's are with them, but Maester Luwin has locked up Summer and Shaggydog. Summer, my wolf, is very friendly, but Rickon can't stop Shaggydog from scaring people, so the Maester said they were dangerous." Explained Bran, looking down, and Jon brightened, thinking of a way to cheer up the young boy.

"Well, we have some time before I have to go, why don't we go and visit them for a bit?" Jon asked, leaping to his feet and he beamed when Bran smiled.

"Can we really? You'll have to find Hodor though, I don't know where he is."

"It's alright, I can carry you." He replied, hooking an arm beneath Bran's knees and shoulders and lifting him easily in his strong arms and heading out of the room.

* * *

**Time skip (few hours)**

Jon mounted the black horse and gazed over Winterfell once more. He had spent a wonderful few hours with Bran and Rickon, playing with the direwolves and had been given a monster of war horse that he had decided to name Aemon after both the Dragon Knight and his relative at Castle Black. Hopefully, the powerful beast below him would prove to have good stamina and he could make good time to Riverrun. Either way it was going to be a long and hard journey.

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* * *

A/N: I'm back after a bust period in my life and hopefully we can get this fic completed. I am currently working on chapter 7/8 and I hope to complete a chapter for every chapter I post on here, so I'd say ill will be working to one chapter a week or two weeks.


	5. Chapter 4

-Chapter 4-

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The night was dark and clouded, Robb could not even see the stars from outside his tent where he stood, shivering and praying to whatever Gods would listen for his brother to join the host at Riverrun. He had known Jon all his life- they had walked together, grown together, learned together and Robb knew that he didn't want to fight without his brother at his side, where he belonged. Where they both belonged.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a small soldier- a guard who had been posted near his tent.

"My Lord, there has been a rider in the night- Jon Snow has arrived and is asking to see you."

Robb's heart leapt and he smiled- his first true smile since he learned of his father's death at the hands of the Lannisters.

"Of course, bring him here immediately."

The soldier bowed and walked off into the darkness. It was only a few moments before Robb spotted his brother walking towards him, his purple eyes gleaming in the dark of the forest.

"Jon! My brother, I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you here!" he exclaimed, walking to meet his brother and embracing him tightly.

Jon chuckled and pulled back. "I knew you wouldn't last long without me- I'm gone for a few weeks and look at you- you're starting a war!"

Robb laughed and pulled him into his tent- one much larger than any of his soldiers got he knew. "So, why aren't you at the Wall? I cannot protect you from the justice of the Watch if you have abandoned the vows you swore."

"I didn't take the oath, Robb- Uncle Benjen went missing on a Ranging beyond the Wall, and the Watch tell me that he is presumed dead. Therefore it was not safe enough to take me to the heart tree to swear my oaths, so I was free to join you when I heard of your gathering host."

Robb frowned at the news of his uncle and poured them both a glass of wine, which Jon accepted gratefully. They both took a large sip before setting the goblets down.

"Robb, while I was at Castle Black, I was attacked by what they call a wight. It was the reanimated corpse of a dead brother and it was trying to kill the Lord Commander. Thankfully, I was able to stop it with fire, but I was injured and knocked unconscious. When I woke, the Maester told me that while I had been burned I had not sustained any injuries from the fire- I should have, Robb. He explained to me that I am not a Stark. I am not your brother, I am your cousin. I am the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, and Maester Aemon is my great-uncle, I think."

Robb sat down heavily, silent. It was a lot to take in, Jon knew that, but the silence was unnerving and he was worried that Robb would reject him for the crimes of his grandfather- the Mad King who had murdered Robb's uncle and grandfather in insanely cruel ways.

After a long pause in conversation, Robb lifted his head and appraised his cousin. "We were raised as brothers, Jon. I'm not going to hate you because of who your parents were. Besides, you're still family."

Jon sighed in relief and rested a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Thank you, Robb."

"Although I can't deny that this will change the war. As the last Targaryen, you are heir to the throne of Westeros, and I cannot deny you your inheritance." He admitted, glancing over the map that was spread out over the oak table that he and his advisors used to plan their battles.

"I know. First, though I want revenge for Father- I mean, Ned's death. He died a traitor's death but he told the truth and even gave Cersei a chance to flee. He may not be my father, but he was my uncle and a good and honourable man, and I should be pleased if I ever became half the man he was. I swear to you, Robb, the Lannisters will pay."

Robb nodded in agreement and met his cousin's eyes. "Aye, cousin. But what is your endgame- how will it end if you dictate the victory?"

Jon cast his violet gaze over the map of Westeros- his eyes passing over each Kingdom: the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and Dorne. Each one was vital to the other's survival and it was his job to unite them and bring peace to each region.

"I want peace, Robb. I want a safe land where the ruling family is not insane and inbred. I want loyal nobility and trusting peasants, and I want to do everything I can to push the Lannisters off the throne."

Robb grinned at the ferocity with which his cousin spoke. "Once more, I concur. I will be with you every step of the way- my word is yours, my sword is yours, my life is yours from this day until my last." He pledged, as he knelt and drew his sword to present to his cousin, who was staring at him in shock.

"Robb, that is not necessary, but I accept your oath and promise to protect you, shield you and fight beside you, this day until my last."

The once-brothers grinned and embraced again, for the first time hopeful for the future, and Robb re-sheathed his sword. "We will announce our plans and your Targaryen heritage at the feast tonight, but for now let me catch you up with what's been happening since you left."

He had just finished speaking when a guard announced Brynden the Blackfish, and the older man strode into the tent, bowing slightly and nodding to Jon.

"Uncle. I was just talking with my… brother, Jon. Please, make yourself comfortable- I was just catching him up with what's been happening since he left. Have you had any word from the Vale? Can we expect my aunt to send men?

"No, my Lord. I'm afraid Lysa will not allow it." He explained, sitting down and helping himself to a glass of wine.

Robb was confused. It was clear to him that not all of what had transpired in the Eyrie had been relayed to him, and he narrowed his eyes subtly. "Did Lysa mention why not?"

The Blackfish glanced at him briefly and looked away before speaking softly. "Lysa Arryn is not well, Robb. She sees treason and trickery behind every face, and trusts no one. Your mother offered to take Robyn to Winterfell to be her ward and a companion to Bran and Rickon, and she did not react well. She threatened to throw her sister through the Moon Door!"

Robb's eyes widened –he had heard stories about the Eyrie's Moon Door- a gate to a long fall down to the nearest mountain, where anyone who fell would meet their death. "Seven hells, how could she threaten her own blood?"

Ser Brynden sighed heavily. "Lysa has endured long years with no children and Robyn is a frail child, and she is left to command the Vale without her husband by her side. I fear we can expect no help from the Vale this time, nephew. She will keep her knights and soldiers behind her stone walls and attempt to ride out this storm. I'm afraid is mistaken to think that this war will not touch them. Tywin Lannister will come calling someday. He will not forget that Lysa put his son on trial, no matter how much he despises the Imp. I say that we should have shut him up, killed his sellsword and put him back in a sky cell- anything but let him walk. Lysa was under the impression that the tribesmen of the Mountains of the Moon would slaughter them- they almost killed us on our way to see her.

Robb gave a short snort in disbelief. "Hill tribesmen? That Lannister scout we captured said that there were wild men accompanying the Imp at Harrenhal."

"I am sure he talked them into joining him, after he talked them out of killing him," replied his uncle, taking a sip of the wine.

Jon nodded. "Now it is too late. The little man trapped us with his tongue and our own laws and has talked his way out of another trap."

"We should have said to hell with our own laws and kept hold of him," Ser Brynden said once again. "Then we would have a Lannisters to trade and we could bargain with Tywin for the return of your sisters instead of him giving us terms of surrender."

"The Lannisters have bent the rules of the land for their own purposes if what they say happened in King's Landing is true," said Robb. "Cersei tore up Father's letter from King Robert in front of the whole court."

"Maybe it's time we did the same- bend the laws for our needs. If they play dirty, why can't we?" argued Ser Brynden.

Robb stood as his uncle did. "Of course. Thank you for your wise words uncle." Ser Brynden said his goodbyes and was soon gone from the room.

"Well it looks like neither us nor the Lannisters will receive aid from the Vale." Jon said regretfully. "I shall see you in the Great Hall for the feast. I need some time to make sure I'm ready for what we are about to do."

* * *

The Great Hall of Riverrun was ringing with laughter as Jon entered the room, looking around at the guests. He spotted all the Lords of the North seated around his family- all the great families united once more. As he cast his eye over each one of them, he caught Theon Greyjoy, his uncle's ward looking at him. The younger man grinned at him mockingly, but Jon paid him no attention and went to sit with Robb at the centre of the long table.

While the first course was being served, he heard the Greatjon challenge the men to a drinking challenge, all the while thumping the table to rouse the soldiers. There was a commotion at one of the far tables and Jon looked up to see that a small man wearing the colours of House Manderly had knocked over a bowl of soup on to another man's cloths and was laughing while apologizing . The now wet man was muttering acceptances and laughing with the other and quickly took his leave to put on dry clothes. Jon couldn't help but smile.

Turning to Robb, who was also watching the events at the far end of the Hall, Jon asked "When should we make the announcement?"

"Let's wait till during the main course, they should have calm down some by then." His cousin suggested and Jon nodded but didn't say anything, moving instead to spear a piece of meat.

The time passed quickly- while Robb was obligated to converse with the others at the head table, Jon was more than happy to just listen in and observe.

Standing, Robb called for the attention of his men, and as the Hall began to grow silent in anticipation, Robb kept shooting him glances, making sure he wanted to do this.

"My lords, ladies, knights of the realm, soldiers. Now is the time that we decide who we fight for. Now is the time that we decide what we stand for. And now is the time we shall be remembered for so let us think wisely. So let us speak and decide."

Many of the lords' bannermen wanted to march on Harrenhal at once, to meet Lord Tywin and end Lannister power for all time. Young, hot-tempered Marq Piper urged a strike west at Casterly Rock instead. Still others counselled patience. Riverrun sat athwart the Lannister supply lines, Jason Mallister pointed out; let them bide their time, denying Lord Tywin fresh levies and provisions while they strengthened their defences and rested their weary troops. Lord Blackwood would have none of it. March to Harrenhal and destroy the armies in there way. What Blackwood urged, Bracken opposed, as ever; Lord Janos Bracken rose to insist they ought pledge their fealty to King Renly, and move south to join their might to his.

"Renly is not the king." Robb said. It was the first time Robb had spoken since he announced their discussion. Like his father, he knew how to listen and this had worked to his advantage.

"You cannot mean to swear loyalty to Joffrey, my lord," Galbart Glover protested. "He put your father to death."

"That makes him evil," Robb replied. "I do not know that it makes Renly the rightful King. Joffrey is still Robert's eldest trueborn son, so the throne is rightfully his by all the laws of the realm. Were he to die, and I mean to see that he does, he has a younger brother. Tommen is next in line after Joffrey."

"Tommen is no less a Lannister," Ser Marq Piper snapped.

"As you say," said Robb, troubled. "Yet if neither one is king, still, how could it be Lord Renly? He's Robert's younger brother. Bran cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me and Renly cannot be king before Lord Stannis."

Lady Mormont agreed. "Lord Stannis has the better claim."

"Renly is crowned," said Marq Piper. "Highgarden and Storm's End support his claim. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength to his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir themselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads on pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevan, all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly."

"What do we fight for if not to get justice against the Lannisters?" asked Rickard Karstark, standing in anger, and ignoring his wife who had laid a hand on his arm to calm him.

"Aye," said Lord Bracken. "Gregor Clegane laid waste to my fields, slaughtered my smallfolk, and left Stone Hedge a smoking ruin. Am I now to bend the knee to the ones who sent him? What have we fought for, if we are to put all back as it was before?"

Lord Blackwood agreed. "And if we do make peace with King Joffrey, are we not then traitors to King Renly? What if the stag should prevail against the lion? Where would that leave us? Traitors to the crown, all of us?"

"Whatever you may decide for yourselves, I shall never call a Lannister my king," declared Marq Piper.

"Nor I!" yelled the little Darry boy. "I never will!"

"So you mean us to declare for Stannis?" asked Edmure.

"NO, MY LORDS!" Robb shouted, his voice booming off the rafters and he drew himself to his full height. "Here is what I say to these two kings!" He spat, meeting the gaze of every man in the room.

"Renly Baratheon is not my King, nor Stannis either. Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dragonstone? What do they know of the Wall or the godswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are different than ours, and the Others take the Lannisters too." He reached back over his shoulder and drew his immense two-handed greatsword.

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and married we shall remain. I present to you Jon Targaryen, son of Lyanna stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. The blood of kings twice over and a son of the North and of Winterfell."

He pointed at Jon with the blade. "There sits the only king I will ever bend my knee to, my lords," he thundered. "The King in the North, and future King of the Seven Kingdoms!"

With those words, he turned and knelt, and laid his sword at Jon's feet.

"I'll have peace on those terms," Lord Karstark agreed, and he eased his longsword from its scabbard. "The King in the North!" he said, kneeling beside the Robb. The rest of the lords followed shortly as one by one they pledged their loyalty to the young man.

Jon stood, gazing over the kneeling men and women- men and women who had sworn to follow him to victory or to death.

"If Tywin Lannister thinks he can cross the Neck, I swear to you that they will freeze and be buried in the snows and will starve. They are not of the North, and the North will not protect them as it does us.

Not a single Lannister will ever set foot in the North again, not while they are ruled by Tywin Lannister. I promise you that before all the gods, old and new. I promise you as the one true and King of the Seven Kingdoms."

* * *

Next Day

The raven arrived at Riverrun at midday. Jon and Robb were in the main castle courtyard, Grey Wind never far from the side of his master.

Robb and the newly crowned King Jon stood watching their men train; encouraging them, walking among them and giving a grin and advice to their soldiers. They were only young men themselves, not yet counting sixteen name days, and here they were leading an army against Tywin Lannister, one of the greatest commanders the Seven Kingdoms had ever known. If their luck held, with Robb's abilities to inspire the men and Jon's tactical skills, Tywin was about to get a nasty surprise.

But Jon didn't let that get to his head. He was surrounded by his uncle's captains, all men much older than him and with much more experience at war. He had listened and heeded their advice, as he believed a wise king should do.

He had his uncle, Ser Brynden the Blackfish, to thank for that more than anyone- his plan which they would implement soon to try and capture the ever elusive Jaime Lannister was nothing less than genius and Jon was grateful to have the cunning man on his side and not the Lannisters.

As Jon stood in the mud of the training yard with the Greatjon Umber and the Blackfish fighting against him, both of them trying their hardest to get past his impressive defences, the Maester of Riverrun came to Jon with a message from Stannis Baratheon.

* * *

My lord and lady,

I _declare upon the honor of my House, that my brother Robert_

_left no trueborn heirs, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella,_

_being born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime Lannister,_

_the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of_

_Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty._

_His Grace, Stannis of Houses Baratheon, First of His Name,_

_King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,_

_and Protector of the Realm_

* * *

Jon barked a laugh at the message. "Well this makes my claim all the more legitimate doesn't it" Jon remarked, flashing a grin at his opponents, who looked confused but he waved it off.

"Come, we must call a council to discuss what Stannis has told me."

* * *

A small time later

"There is other news you must know concerning the Twins and the Freys," Robb said to Jon as both sat down after the lengthy discussion.

"Aye?" Jon asked after he took a sip of Dornish wine.

"We have had promise me to one of his daughters or granddaughters to use his bridge."

"Seven hells," Jon said quietly and Robb had to laugh at that.

"That's what I thought," he said.

"Who did you allow to make the arrangement?" Jon asked in disbelief.

"Roose Bolton."

Turning to the man in question, Jon gave him a menacing glare.

"It was the only way Your Grace, I apologise." Offered Roose quickly, bowing his head and lowering his eyes in submission.

"Walder Frey," Jon said, grimacing in anger. "Made you promise Robb to one of his own to use his bridge? Is he not a bannermen of Riverrun? He should have let you over at once when you arrived."

"Yes," said Robb. "But you know what he is like. And...there is more."

"More?" Jon asked. "He is getting far more than he deserves already!"

"We also had to promise Arya to his youngest son," Robb said quickly, hoping that the quicker he said it the less painful it would be.

"Arya," Jon growled in frustration. "She will not marry him, you know? She's more likely to run away or kill her husband on their wedding night than be wedded and bedded by a man she did not know, and a Frey, no less."

"Walder Frey will have his price paid or we will never have use of that bridge again or in many generations to follow." Brynden Tully said, sagely and Jon sighed again.

"Aye. But Arya will not like it." He admitted, glancing at his cousin in sympathy for he too would marry a woman he did not know.

"No more than I will, I suppose," Robb said with a bitter laugh and Jon grimaced.

"You will have to do your duty, cousin." _At least, until I can find a way out of it. _Jon added, silently, his mind already racing to think of other ways to get around the bargain.

"Either way we must continue with the campaign. We will capture Jaime Lannister in two days."

* * *

_Read, review and follow_

_A/N: I'm sorry that it's taken so long to update. I wanted to try to finish chapter 7 before I posted this one but my life suddenly got really busy with visiting family and other summer activities. So hopefully ill finish chapter 7 and I'll post chapter 5 soon._


	6. Chapter 5 new

-Chapter 5-

/

1 week later.

Riverrun War Room

"Tell me what you know of the fighting in the riverlands," Jon said. He had to learn if he was truly ready for this war.

"Less than a fortnight past, there was a battle in the hills below castle Wayfarer's Rest, the seat of House Vance." Robb said. "Uncle Edmure had sent Lord Vance and Lord Piper to hold the territory, but the Kingslayer descended on them but they were held off until reinforcement arrived and the Kingslayer retreated in the direction of pink maiden castle, we assume he is aiming to take the house pipers seat and to use it as a launching point between golden tooth , the Stoney Sept and east towards Harrenhal . All the time we were battling Jamie, Lord Tywin was bringing a second Lannister army around from the south, he has swept under the riverlands, east, so he can come up and take Harrenhal. It's said that his host is to be even larger than Jaime's host. The old lion knows that Harrenhal is an important castle to take if he is to win this war."

"Father must have known that, because he sent out some men to oppose them, under the king's own banner. He gave the command to some southron lordling, Lord Erik or Derik or something like that, but Ser Raymun Darry rode with him, and the letter said there were other knights as well, and a force of Father's own guardsmen. Only it was a trap. Lord Derik had no sooner crossed the Blackwater rush than the Lannisters fell upon him, the king's banner be damned, and Gregor Clegane took them in the head on as they tried to pull back across. This Lord Derik and a few others may have escaped, no one is certain, but Ser Raymun was killed, and most of our men from Winterfell. Lord Tywin has closed off the kingsroad, it's said, and now he's marching north, burning as he goes."

Grim and grimmer, thought the king . It was worse than He'd imagined. "You mean to meet him?" Roose Bolton asked.

"If he comes so far, but no one thinks he will," Robb said. "I've sent word to our men throughout the riverlands . If the Lannisters come up, the men will bleed them every step of the way, but Galbart Glover says Lord Tywin is too smart for that, they believe, taking the castles of the river lords one by one, until Riverrun stands alone. We need to march south to meet him."

The very idea of it chilled the Jon to the bone. What chance would a fifteen-year-old boy have against seasoned battle commanders like Jaime and Tywin Lannister? "Is that wise? You are strongly placed here. It's said that you can stand in Riverrun and throw back hosts ten times the size of their own. Marching is all very well," Roose Bolton said to Jon, "but where, and to what purpose? What do you mean to do?""

"Yes we could stay put, but our food and supplies are running low, and this is not land we can live off easily. We've been waiting for the Lords of the riverlands, but now that they have joined us, we need to march. We are now fighting for more than freedom for my lord father. We are fighting for justice. We are fighting for our rights, and we are fighting for a better future for all the kingdoms"

'This host that has assembled is not a standing army such as the Free Cities are not accustomed to maintain, nor a force of guardsmen paid in coin. Most of them were smallfolk: crofters, fieldhands, fishermen, sheepherders, the sons of innkeeps and traders and tanners, leavened with a smattering of sellswords and freeriders hungry for blood. When their lords called, they came . . . but not forever. If we did not move there army would lose their momentum.' Jon thought to himself.

" I think we should take the battle to Lord Tywin and surprise him," The Greatjon said,

"No, I feel it is safer to face the Kingslayer" Lord Glovers said, lord Karstark and ser Brynden looking on approvingly with the suggestion

"I agree. The Kingslayer has the smaller army and is closer to us. We defeat his host and capture him, we gain momentum and put some fire in the bellies of our men" commented ser Brynden sagely.

Robb drew a map across the table, a ragged piece of old leather covered with lines of faded paint. One end curled up from being rolled; he weighed it down with his dagger. "Both plans have virtues, but . . . look, if we try to swing around Lord Tywin's host, we take the risk of being caught between him and the Kingslayer, and if we attack him . . . by all reports, he has more men than his son, and a lot more armoured horse. What you say Lord Umber won't matter, if we catch him with his breeches down he pull them too fast for it to make a difference, it seems to me that a man who has fought as many battles as Tywin Lannister won't be so easily surprised."

"I'd leave a small force here to hold Riverrun, archers mostly, and march the rest down the causeway," he said, "but once we're below the Neck, I'd split our host in two.." He pointed. "When Lord Tywin gets word that we've come south, he'll march north to engage our host, leaving his flank less defended. If we time and co-ordinate our selves we can send the larger force of [?] to engage and defeat the Kingslayer before swing around in time to attack the flank of Tywin as he moves north to engage the second force of [?] ." Jon sat back, not quite daring to smile, but pleased with himself and hungry for their praise

Robb frowned down at the map. "You'd put such distance between your parts of your army."

"And between Jaime and Lord Tywin," he said eagerly. The smile came at last.

"What do you think?" Jon asked his cousin, Robb.

"Which force would you command?"

"The one to engage the Kingslayer," he answered at once.

"And the other?"

"The Greatjon is always saying that we should smash Lord Tywin, and you will accompany him to make sure he doesn't engage in a half assed attempt."

Robb grinned. "Grey Wind ate two of his fingers, and he laughed about it" he then nodded and rolled up the map. "I'll give the commands and have the men ready."

The rooms' door burst, making all men in the room reach for their steel. The servant seeing a room full of some of the deadliest men in the kingdom with swords pointing at him seemed to regret his decision not to knock.

"I'm so sorry your grace. I didn't mean to...um... scare? You... Please forgive me" the serving boy looked on pleading at Jon. All the while panting obviously exhausted from a long run.

"It's alright. Tell me why you entered at such hast, it must have been important" Jon inquired, eye brow raised.

"There are six thousand men at the gate flying your banner your grace."

Jon confused asked" I fail to see the problem"

"You miss understand me your grace. Not the Stark banner. The Targarian."

/

Riverrun

The Serving boy took them through hallways and hallways, leading up to the wall surrounding Riverrun. Jon looked out past the walls and seeing 5000, 6000, maybe more men, all dressed in black with the red dragons embroidered on their cloaks and clothes. Targarian banners flying in the wind surrounded by a sea of other northern and Riverlands banners.

"You're right to get me, this is serious. Get me my horse, Aemon, and as someone go get my crown." The crown that Jon had made was heavy, golden and fiery in design. He had it may have so, because he said 'you need to the power to responsibility he had on the shoulders or more precisely on his head' but due to the weight he rarely ever wore it. Now he had to. If this was what He thought it was.

Jon looked down upon the men standing at the front to man with greying hair again dressed in a black cloak with his Banner.

"You're Grace" the man shouted.

Jon looked down upon the man and replied "Yes"

"We have come to swear loyalty and fealty, Your Grace"

In what must be a planned move set off by an unseen signal all the men with the black cloaks with Targarian sigil and banners Bent the knee and said as one "We the phoenix company, do you swear to loyally serve, and protect our lives Jon Targarian, King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Shocked, relieved and a bit confused, Jon replied "I gladly accept your fealty, stay there I'll be there in a minute we're much to discuss.

/

Riding out and is great warhorse, Aemon, Jon again looked out at the men is new Bannermen. They were seasoned men. Men who knew the roughness of war. Men who knew how to survive. These are the type men in needed if he was going to win this campaign.

"You're Grace" again the man shouted catching attention.

"We found something on the road north, to grace, something we give to you or return to you, in a symbol of our gratitude for your returning and in a token of our fealty". With the wave of his hand, a girl walked forward.

"Arya" Jon shouted jumping down from his horse, falling quite a height.

"Jon, I missed you soo much"

"And I you. Ser Brynden why don't you take you niece inside for a change of clothes and a wash. You stink, Arya. Tonight we feast in your honour, Thankful for your return." Turning back to the man, after handing Arya off to Ser Brynden. "Now shall talk. We have much to discuss"

/

"So you found my cousin" it was a statement not a question.

"Aye. One of our scouts told me of trouble a little bit further along of the king's road so we thought we would bloody our swords." The strange man continued. "During the fighting we found your cousin. She had had her hair cut and made out like she was a boy and she joined our group. We didn't know, of course at the time, who she was. She doesn't much look like a lady"

"It was wise of her to have had her hair cut," said Robb.

"Aye, that wandering crow cut her hair. That's no way to treat a lady. " said the man said. "But I wished there had been any other way to get her out of the city. But the road between King's Landing and Harrenhal was hard. The land is on fire, the small folk are fleeing. A party of gold cloaks followed them from King's Landing and then a larger party of Lannister men came later."

"They knew Arya was with travelling with the man of the knight watch?" Jon asked.

"No, your grace" he replied. "The gold cloaks were after a boy named Gendry. He's the usurpers' bastard son."

"After him?" Robb asked. "Why? What has the boy done?"

"Nothing," his man told him. "He didn't even know he was Robert's son. Joffrey wants him dead."

Jon shook his head. "The Blackfyres." Robb knew what she meant, having been taught about the Blackfyre rebellions by Maester Luwin.

"Aye," said the man. "But they protected the lad and sent the gold cloaks back to King's Landing. So they thought. They joined a party of Lannister men who Cersei had sent out to take me back to King's Landing. They were in a holdfast and were attacked and people died. Many people died."

"Gods have mercy," Robb said in shock. "And Arya? What did she do when you were attacked?"

The man looked pained and said nothing so Jon said what he knew was true, knew would be true of his cousin. "She fought."

"Fought?" Robb exclaimed. "She is a girl of ten! How could she fight?"

"She is a Stark of Winterfell," Jon said, strength now in his voice. "She did what she had to do to live"

"Don't worry we sorted the Lannisters out they won't be bothering anybody ever again."

"What's your name you have yet to give it?"

"Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of King Aerys Kingsguard and your loyal servant"

Jon was shock to hear this but didn't show it. "And the men that follow you?"

"After serving a brief stint in the golden company I decided to form my own company the phoenix company. We are all men truly loyal to the Targarian dynasty but as the Targarians were cast down and scattered, so were we, but we reformed, reorganised and became one. We were born again with fire and blood. We have pledge our live to destroy the usurpers... but now we know there is a dragon still alive. A winter's dragon, but still a dragon. We found ourselves a new mission , to put the dragons back where they belong... In the skies.

"It's good to have you on board. We move out tomorrow, so you've arrived just in time. The plan is ..."

/

A/N:So I've had this sitting on my USB for ages and I thought I'll just get rid of it by posting it. The story is nowhere near finished and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it. At any rate this story is on hiatus until the summer at least when I have more time. Anyway thanks for reading please review and maybe I'll get back to it sooner.

Also I'm pretty sure neither of these have been checked so the likely full of errors and just generally problems so I'm sorry about that.


	7. Chapter 6 new

-Chapter 6-

As the host trooped down the causeway through the black bogs of the Neck and spilled out into the riverlands beyond, Jon's apprehensions grew. He masked his fears behind a face kept still and stern, yet they were there all the same, growing with every league they crossed. His days were anxious, his nights restless, and every raven that flew overhead made him clench his teeth.

He feared for Robb, he feared for his cousin Arya, and prayed that the gods would watch over him and his entire family. If he must face the Kingslayer in battle then so be it, Jon was hoping the saying 'the first stride is the hardest' was true or he would have a very hard walk ahead of him.

He rode at the front of the column, beneath the flapping white banner of Winterfell and the black and red banner of the house Targarian. Each day he would ask one of his lords to join him, so they might confer as they marched; he honoured every man in turn, showing no favourites, listening as his lord uncle had listened, weighing the words of one against the other. He has learned so much from uncle, he thought, but has he learned enough? Was he ready to fight a war? Was he ready to be a king?

Lord Hightower had selected a hundred men and a hundred swift horses and sent them to raced ahead to screen their movements and scout the way. The reports the riders brought back did little to reassure her. Jamie's host was still many days to the south. Lord Hightower himself stayed behide with the majority of his forces and with his king, the man he was swore to protect.

The army had split three days past. Robb and the Greatjon, one of Robb's most loyal bannermen, had taken charge of the smaller force consisting of 10,000 Northman and 4,000 men from the river lands. His smaller host would hopeful lure out the Tywin Lannister out so after Jon defeated the Kingslayer, he could swing east and attack his open flank. The larger part of his forces remained under Jon's control. All 6000 of the phoenix's company, 15,000 Northman and 8,000 river men. Jon had kept the force large so as to ensure a victory against the significantly smaller force, of 15,000, under the Kingslayer command.

The plan to capture the Kingslayer was to send the phoenix's company ahead and to lure Jamie and his forces out of the [?] castle and then retreated back in to a trap where the rest of the host would be gathered to trap and kill the enemy forces. It was good planned, it relied on the Lannister arrogance, but compared to other variables, that was a good thing to rely on.

/

I can't show any weakness. Jon could feel the nervousness roiling in his stomach and fear gnawing at the back of his mind as he walked among his men. He did his best not to show his true feelings and instead focused on the sound of the wind flowing through the branches , the soft clinking of his and his men's armour. His father had told him a commander must always appear confident of victory or his doubt would be reflected in his men, so he jested with them and did his best to calm their nerves.

How can I calm their nerves when I can barely contain my own? It wasn't fear of defeat that caused his nervousness, he knew the plan he and the rest of lords had formulated was a good one and he was sure his army would emerge from the coming battle victorious. His doubt was in himself, his first real battle was moments away and he still wasn't sure he was equal to the challenge before him; sure he could fight in the training yard one on one but that was not really, not battle. He had fought the Lord Uncle in a test of skill but that had been different, none of them had been the Kingslayer. His campaign may very well hang in the balance of this battle but the difference between victory or defeat was not resting squarely on his shoulders, he had and army and a Kingsguard, a man who was known as one of the greatest knight of the age.

Jon walked to where lord Hightower held the reins of his stallion and mounted, he reached down to grasp his helm as it was offered up to him and lowered it over his head. What a sight I must make, a scared boy in armour that has seen nary a scratch, looking to lead hardened men into battle.

"It will give them courage," more like to give them second thoughts about following me. He rode up and down the line with his guard.

Shortly after Jon had settled into the front ranks of his men a bird call rang out, a call Jon had heard only rarely since coming south of the neck. They're almost here, Jon did his best to maintain an outward appearance of calm as the Kingslayer and his men, three quarters of his host's horse, filed compliantly into the trap Jon had set.

Jon saw the Kingslayer among his men, helmless and looking as arrogant. He was leading a charge at the retreating force of the phoenix's company, they had removed there Targarian sigils form the cloths as not to give away their kings intention too early. Jon could tell that these men had fought all their lives and a significant chunk of it together despite their smaller numbers they were throwing back the Lannister force. All the while backing themselves to the planned trap.

Moments after the Kingslayer had moved past Jon's position a long low blast from war horn echoed from the south of the valley signalling that last of the Lannister's riders had entered the trap.

Jon could feel his apprehension burn away and filling him with a righteous anger. The Lannister's tried to killed my uncle, crippled my cousin, killed my grandfather, well now they will see what it means to wake the dragon.

The sound of the trumpets answered to the south of Jon's position where Lord Vance commanded his men. On the western ridge the horns of the lord piper were joined by the trumpets of the Freys, to the north Rickard Karstark was the last to sound his readiness.

With that the air was filled with the hiss of arrows as the archers Jon had placed in the trees let loose. Jon drew his sword and shouted "Not one Lannister will escape! Kill them all! Except the Kingslayer!" and led his men down the hill and into the Lannister's.

The initial clash was more violent than Jon could have imagined, hundreds of Lannister knights and men-at-arms died as Northman and Riverlanders alike drove their lances home. Jon himself cut of the better part of a Lannister man-at-arms face before moving into the melee that followed.

He moved through the mass of men, striking at any man with a red cloak or bearing a coat of arms he found unfamiliar. Jon traded blows with several men coming away victorious with no more than scars on his shield or dents in his armour, until finally the battle immediately surrounding him died down as the remaining Lannisters were killed.

Jon looked about the battlefield and saw that with the exception of a few groups of Lannister's that continued to fight the battle was going much the same as it had gone for him. He saw that his men were milling about not quite knowing where to go now that their part of the battle was won, so he rode into a clear part of the valley hoping to rally his men to attack one of the remaining pockets of resistance.

"To Me!" Jon shouted while waving his sword over his head, trying to gain his men's attention "to me!" Several of his men and battle companions had begun to ride to his side. Jon lept from his stallion's, knowing that Aemon would return to him after the battle. standing up he looked up as a arrow flew past his face, he turned towards the direction the arrow came from and found a small group of Westermen had broken loose of a collapsing pocket and were charging directly at him. At the head of the group was the Kingslayer himself in his golden armour and flowing crimson cloak.

Jons's men reached him first and one of the guardsmen he had brought south with him was quick to give Jon his horse as the rest counter-charged against the Kingslayer. He mounted as quickly as he could and charged towards the fray and Jaime Lannister. Seeing what he was doing, Lord Vance peeled off from the fight and blocked his path.

"Out of my way!" he didn't have time for this.

"No! We must keep you alive. If you die then the north and the riverlands will pay in blood. if we let you fight the Kingslayer you will fail to capture him."

"get out of my w-" Jon cut himself short when he saw a arrow suddenly protruding from lord Vance's neck. He didn't have time to fully comprehend this before turning back to the battle. He watched in horror as the Kingslayer cut down four Winterfell men in quick succession then set his sights on Jon, seeing him as a commander of the host

Jaime Lannister had a savage glint in his eyes as began towards Jon. Owen Norrey put himself between them and had barely raised his sword to strike before the Kingslayer put his sword through his mailed chest.

It was Ser Perwyn Frey who tried the Kingslayer next, he managed to parry a few blows before his right arm was cut off at the elbow.

"I'm coming for you boy!" Then it was Theon in front of him "come to die for your jailor Greyjoy?"

"No, I've come to kill the legendary Kingslayer before I give his whore sister a thorough screwing." Jon couldn't see Theon's face but he was sure there was a smirk on it.

The Kingslayer's face contorted in rage "You'll die slow for that. You pathetic little squid!" And for all of Theon's talk it was only a few seconds later that he found himself disarmed. Jaime Lannister lunged at Theon's gut, a slow but sure death.

Jon charged the Kingslayer.

During the first blows, Jon concentrated on his defense and let his muscles settle into the rhythm of swordplay. After several minutes of attempting to get past Jon's defenses, Ser Jamie lost his temper, unused to having someone last so long under his relentless assault. He began to batter at him with arching blows as if to pound him into the ground.

The Kingslayer's weapon slipped past Jon's defenses and slashed his upper thigh. Both men stepped back catching their breath.

"You're one of the finest swordsmen I've ever seen." Jon admitted to the Kingslayer. Jamie looked at Jon as if he was stupid. "It's a shame that good swords men don't make good soldiers"

"Wha-".

It was too late, two of the biggest men in the army, larger than the Greatjon, had just dived upon him holding him down. Wrestling his sword from his grasp.

"Tie him up. You two" pointing at the two men." You will accompany the Kingslayer with the help of 500 men back to the dungeons at Riverrun. I don't want him escaping. I'm entrusting you"

"Come, men. we must march quickly for a our brothers in the other host it may already be too late"

* * *

A/N:So I've had this sitting on my USB for ages and I thought I'll just get rid of it by posting it. The story is nowhere near finished and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it. At any rate this story is on hiatus until the summer at least when I have more time. Anyway thanks for reading please review and maybe I'll get back to it sooner.

Also I'm pretty sure neither of these have been checked so the likely full of errors and just generally problems so I'm sorry about that.


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